


The Room Where It Happens

by SegaBarrett



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, stoic pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:08:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27462463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: Hamilton stops by.
Relationships: Aaron Burr/Alexander Hamilton
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24
Collections: Flash With Benefits





	The Room Where It Happens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LamiaCalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LamiaCalls/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't own Hamilton and I make no money from this.

Aaron Burr prided himself on being a master of lying in wait, of waiting for the exact right moment to do things, of allowing opportunity to float back to him so that he could leisurely scoop it up unnoticed and then fling it in the direction of his goal.

It all worked so much better when he was able to move through crowds unnoticed, to hitch a plan that no one would see coming because no one really knew what to expect from him.

Alexander Hamilton, he had learned, was like night from his day, and it tended to drive him into some sort of a frenzy if he thought about it for too long.

He wanted to push him aside, to shake him sometimes, because he walked around with such an arrogant air despite having come basically out of nowhere and from nothing – well, maybe that was the reason he had it. Maybe he built his empire on clouds and refused to come down from it.

Every time that Burr got into a conversation with Hamilton, he felt as if he left more frazzled than he had entered it. Hamilton seemed to spend all of his time weaving plans and no time considering the practicality.

For Burr, practicality was the only thing that mattered.

That was why he was determined to be as practical as possible about the weird little feeling he received when Hamilton came to his home in the middle of the night to ask him to write essays defending the new Constitution.

The fact that he was standing out on his patio, looking at him, and the fact that he was there in the middle of the night as Burr stood in his underclothes could be very easily misinterpreted by someone who wanted to misinterpret things.

Burr refused at first – he didn’t want to hear Hamilton going on about his plans and ambitions again. It seemed like nothing at all could knock any sense into him. 

“Would you like to come in?” The words flung from Burr’s mouth before he had a chance to rein them in, and he immediately thought better of them – here he was, throwing caution to the wind, and that was not him. That had never been him, he had told himself he would always lie in wait.

Why did that philosophy seem to run off into the night where Hamilton was concerned?

“Why yes, Mr. Burr, sir,” Hamilton agreed, stepping inside and taking off his hat, hanging it on the wall. “It feels warm for September, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” Burr agreed, trying to shake off the fact that it was hard to stop looking at Hamilton. Something in the way that he walked, the swagger to his step, made him difficult to ignore. 

It made him difficult to wait for.

“So, I have an idea,” Hamilton said, “We need to publish something to defend the Constitution. To make people truly understand what is it about.”

“It’s rather late to be discussing the Constitution,” Burr countered. “Would you like a drink, instead?”

“Oh, no, I think… I think I would like to take in the view from the best place in your house, instead,” he said with a smile.

“Well, that would be from my bedroom,” Burr replied, trying to find shame within himself but failing. And so he led Hamilton up the short shrift of wooden steps and lingered at the doorway to his bedroom. There was no one there to misinterpret, now. No one but him. And perhaps he had it all wrong. 

“It is quite the view,” Hamilton said, stepping up to look out the window, at the shimmering stars against the blackened sky.

Burr didn’t allow himself to wait – not this time. Not this moment. He reached out and allowed his hands to linger on Hamilton’s shoulders as he pulled him forward, pulled him away from staring at the stars and tried to lock him into staring at Burr instead.

“This is a nice view, too,” Hamilton said with a chuckle. He took a seat on the bed and, with much less debate than Burr would have assumed would come from such a loquacious man, allowed Burr to begin unbuttoning his shirt. 

He set the shirt off to the side, fiddling with it a moment to make sure that it was perfectly lined up on the bed. Maybe he was just biding time.

“Mr. Burr, sir?” Hamilton asked – he almost purred it, with sent Burr into a giddy rhyming set in his head, trying desperately to keep himself afloat before making a fool out of himself.

“Is this something you find…” Burr began, but he was cut off by Hamilton’s lips crushed against his.

Burr was glad about it. He didn’t want to talk, and he no longer wanted to wait. He helped Hamilton out of his pants, next, and without speaking kissed down his neck until he arrived at his thighs. He kissed each of them, trying to shut his brain up about what this might mean. This felt like something he had wanted, or maybe needed to do for years, and no fire or brimstone or ghosts from the past could sway him from his goal.

His goal, at the moment, being slipping Hamilton’s tip into his mouth and lapping at it with his tongue, testing the waters. 

Then he shut his eyes and took him deeper, pushing the doubts deeper, too.

He could hear Hamilton moaning, but he didn’t dare open his eyes to meet the other man’s. To speak about this would be to break the mood, somehow, to shatter the illusion that this was somehow business as usual.

He pulled back and lapped at the tip again, almost tickling him, before taking him inside again. Hamilton bucked, and somehow Burr was able to meet the thrusts with little to no difficulty, finding himself able to symbiotically anticipate them. 

Or maybe Hamilton had finally gotten a little bit predictable. 

Burr’s hand snaked up the shaft and, as he pulled back, he began to squeeze – gently at first, and then with more vigor.

Hamilton’s moans filled the room, ringing out against the walls. 

Burr opened his eyes, at last, and then he swallowed.

The moment hung in the air as Hamilton got dressed, letting out what seemed to be a nervous chuckle.

“So you’ll think about those essays, then?” he inquired, turning to go.

“No,” Burr retorted. Hamilton shrugged and walked down the steps – Burr could hear his footsteps for what sounded like miles.

And the room felt emptier, now.


End file.
